


Fixation

by golddragon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Fandom, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Poe Dameron, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Slow Burn, pretty vanilla (?) for an a/b/o fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golddragon/pseuds/golddragon
Summary: It's only on Kajimi that it first dawns on Finn that Poe is not, in fact, the alpha he had suspected him to be.It's not until Finn sees Poe interact with Zorii that he gets it.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 24
Kudos: 325





	Fixation

**Author's Note:**

> This imagines that Poe and Finn meet Zorii on Kajimi sometime between the events of TLJ and the start of TROS, rather than during the canon-compliant timeline :)
> 
> Enjoy!

It's only on Kajimi that it first dawns on Finn that Poe is not, in fact, the alpha he had suspected him to be.

It's not until Finn sees Poe interact with Zorii that he gets it. Unlike most of the people Finn has seen talk to him - Resistance fighters and techs alike who idolise and fawn over their cocky, handsome star pilot - Zorii cuts Poe no slack. The female alpha speaks to him bluntly, snaps back witty retorts with a quickness of thought to match Poe's own, and calls him out on his bullshit. She bosses him around.

In short, she handles him. 

And boy, does Poe respond to being handled, Finn notes with an interest he's unable to ignore. He files the information into the carefully labelled 'Poe' folder that's been steadily and insistently growing at the back of his mind since he first broke the quick-talking, golden boy out of Ren's bonds. 

Poe is on fire around Zorii, his voice and body full of that same reckless energy he's always had, but doubled, tripled, as if he's begging for more of her tough love attention. Every time her tongue cuts him down, he shines. When she gives him an order Finn can see the happy battle that rages in him, the desire to buck against her order fighting his eagerness to please. The faint flush on Poe's face when he submits.

Finn wants to decode that flush, break it down until he understands exactly what Poe's feeling. Pleasure? Arousal? Shame, that his friends are there to witness his reactions? 

Something tightens in his groin. He doubts that many people could make Poe react in such a way. He doubts that he could.

Finn is nothing, a no-one, a nobody. Designation-stripped. It was just another part of his upbringing as a stormtrooper in the First Order, submitting to the brutal surgical procedure that extracts glands and secondary gender pathways from alphas, betas and omegas alike - before they had presented, whilst they were still just children. There wasn't room in stormtrooper ranks for the chaos - and egos - such hormonal cycles induced. Yet, watching Poe's flushed face and its war between pride and submission, feeling an answering heat arise in his own, not for the first time Finn feels a curiosity itch beneath his skin. What would it be like to feel that? To make someone else feel that? 

When they leave Kajimi, Finn convinces himself that he's only interested because the thrill of designation-driven desire isn't something that's written in his stars.

"So," he says awkwardly, when they're back on the ship, Poe slumped in the flight seat opposite him. They're both panting from the run. Finn can't scent as well as most people, his sense of smell blunted to a weak parody of everyone else's, but even he can smell the tangy ozone of adrenaline leftover from their flight, and beneath that, a remnant vein of salty-sweet, hot arousal. Finn swallows thickly. "Zorii."

Poe grins. Does his scent intensify? Finn can't tell. Poe's eyes close and his head tilts back against the seat rest, and Finn tries not to stare at the lean column of his throat, where the slight raise of two of his scent glands are boldly on show. It feels indecent. "She's something, huh?" Poe says.

"An ex of yours?" Finn's heart jumps in his chest.

"You could say that." Poe's voice is light and easy. "We were a thing once..."

"Back when you were a spice runner," he teases.

"You're not gonna let that go, are you buddy?"

"No."

They lapse into silence as the familiar pull of the ship announces that they've jumped to light speed.

 _So, you're an omega?_ Finn wants to ask, but he can't get the words out. It doesn't seem... Appropriate. Even between friends. It's too personal. He shifts restlessly in his seat, eyes darting to and from the column of Poe's throat.

Designations are not something that are easily shared in the New Republic. Now that they're no longer considered appropriate markers of people's status, there's no need to advertise them. The human races of the galaxy near universally wear blockers as a matter of rote personal hygiene, a common courtesy that all but the most backward systems and entitled alphas respect. Betas still make up the vast majority of secondary genders, but without the scents of omegas and alphas clamouring for attention the human population of the galaxy has ground along far more efficiently in the days since the fall of the Empire.

Before the New Republic, the blockers that worked were expensive. Some desperate people - normally, omegas - resorted to designation-stripping willingly to escape the limits placed on them by gender and society. The procedure was outlawed in most systems, but that didn't stop the desperate from seeking it.

Finn knows that the New Republic offers unprecedented freedom for the betas and omegas who inhabit it, but he isn't naive enough to believe that prejudices have been eradicated in a mere handful of decades. He understands why someone like Poe might want to keep that sort of information private.

Poe's eyes are still closed, which is probably why, despite this understanding, Finn summons the unthinking courage to blurt out, "So, uh, your designation...?"

His question falls clumsily into the humming quiet of the ship. He wants to clear his throat, especially when Poe cracks open an eye and raises an eyebrow at him from across the table. His look sears heat through Finn's body. "I don't think now's the best time for this discussion, Finn." 

_Tell me,_ he wants to order. Irrationally. He wants Poe to feel compelled to answer his questions, the same way Zorii compelled him on Kajimi. 

He immediately feels ashamed at the thought. What is he thinking?

"Yeah. Sorry." He rubs the back of his head, shifting further in his seat. Poe is still watching him with those slightly cracked, easy going eyes and he's feeling hot. "I just... The First Order, you know? Designation-stripped," he mumbled. "I can't tell these things."

It's a poor excuse, and they both know it. "It's okay," Poe says. He laughs softly, his eyes still calmly watching him. "I'm not offended." 

But he doesn't offer any more information, and Finn is too flustered to push him.

...

Finn finds that he has started watching Poe whenever the other man is around. It's almost a compulsion: the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise and his eyes are drawn like a magnet to Poe whenever he enters a room. The pilot’s presence has always been electric, but now Finn reacts to him as if he’s something else.

He follows Poe's orange jump-suited figure as he strides across the jungle strewn floor of Ajan Kloss, a gaggle of new recruits trailing behind him like freshly imprinted ducklings, their eyes shining. Would they still gaze at him with such adoration if they knew he was an omega? He watches how Poe shakes the tension from his body before he jumps in his x-wing, how he boosts the spirits of the rest of his squadron with his genuine conviction in their cause, the sparkle in his eyes as he teases BB-8 and fussing med-droids upon his return. The passion in his voice as he advocates for his latest mad plan. Finn watches, and watches, and watches, and feels something new and delicate slowly unfurl in his chest…

Against his best intentions, Finn realises that he is interested in his friend. They're in the middle of a war, and it's really not the time for it and Ajan Kloss isn't the place for it, but it's as if the thought of Poe has burrowed under his skin. He can’t stop thinking about him.

Finn is self-aware enough to know that his attraction to Poe is not just due to his newfound suspicion of the other’s man designation. The attraction had been building for a while, clarifying and solidifying with each smile Poe threw his way, each casual touch of his warm hands against his shoulder, his back, his neck. He’s not even sure why Poe's designation fascinates him so much. It's not as if, with his own stripped senses, Poe's sexual chemistry could make him any more appealing to Finn than anyone else. But the way Zorii had made Poe’s cheeks flush and eyes shine stays firmly fixed in his mind…

One night Poe, Snap, Jess and Oro ambush him in his room, a pack of cards in Jess' hands and two bottles of Jo-En whisky and a stack of plastic cups clutched in Oro’s blue tentacle-like hair. Oro slumps with Jess onto the bunk opposite Finn’s own (which had been lying empty ever since the unfortunate tech who had shared the room with him had stepped on one of the purple poisonous pods in the forest) and Snap and Poe stretch out on the floor. Poe leans against his legs, his back warm against Finn’s shins. He grins up at him, and Finn clears his throat nervously.

“Halfmoon Click?” Jess asks, already dealing. It’s a team game. “Me and Oro against Finn and Poe, Snap as banker?”

“I’m game,” Poe says, reaching over to pour himself a measure of the golden spirit. “Finn?” He holds up the bottle.

“Sure. I, uh, I’m not really used to alcohol though.”

“Then I gotta warn you buddy, it burns going down.” Poe hands over the plastic cup. There isn’t very much in it, but that is probably for the best.

As he takes it from him, his fingers brushes Poe’s. Poe’s warm brown eyes hold his as he raises his own cup to Finn’s in cheers. To cover his confusion, Finn brings the cup to his lips and takes a deep swill of the liquid, spluttering as a line of fire chases the mouthful down his throat.

Jess, Oro and Snap laugh as Poe slaps him on the knee. “Easy there, Finn.” Something in Finn’s chest warms when Poe uses his name.

An hour later Finn is drunk for what must be the first time in his life. “This is great!” He laughs as Poe hands him another measure. Poe’s own shoulders are relaxed and loose, his movements less energised than they are normally.

Halfmoon Click, it turns out, makes much more sense when you don’t have any idea what is going on. Poe holds their team’s cards and doesn’t seem to need Finn’s help anyway, and Finn is content to lean back and feel the weight of Poe’s body against his legs, watching his black curls coil softly against the nape of his neck whilst he listens to the low rumble of Poe’s voice.

“You doing okay back there? Finn?” Poe asks, another half hour in.

“Mmm. I’m good.”

Everything is bright and warm, and Poe, Jess, Snap and Oro banter easily around him, and Finn feels relaxed for the first time in weeks. He wonders if Rey has ever been drunk like this. He should get her drunk like this, and they can both forget the First Order together.

Across from them Jess is lounging against Oro. The built humanoid dwarfs the smaller human female, but Jess doesn’t seem to mind, her free hand pressed against his chest as she laughs up at his tusked face. Snap is humming on the floor, absent-mindedly flashing the banked cards at them all as he runs through a series of card tricks.

Generator light flashes along the crest of Poe’s hair as he turns his head and a piece of trivia swims to the forefront of Finn’s mind… After his suspicions about Poe’s designation, he read up on omegas: one thing he’d learned was that they feel _really_ _good_ when people pull their hair.

Finn wants Poe to feel as good as he does right now. It’s clear even to his fuzzy mind that the alcohol is not having as much of an effect on Poe as it is on him.

Without expending too much thought on the action, Finn sits up and reaches for Poe’s hair. The action makes his head dizzy. He pushes his fingers into the thick black locks, frowning and holding the curls tightly when Poe jerks away in shock. “Stay still,” he orders.

“Finn, you can’t touch me there buddy,” Poe gasps. His voice sounds strange. Finn ignores him. Poe doesn’t understand yet; Finn wants him to feel good.

Poe’s hair is surprisingly silky. Finn blinks in concentration as he fists his hand into the curls at the nape of Poe’s neck, preventing him from twisting away. He knows not to hold Poe’s neck: that would cross some line that even in this dazed, happy state Finn knows wouldn’t be appropriate. Gently, he pushes his other hand through Poe’s thick hair, lightly scraping his nails along his scalp.

Poe moans. The sound shoots straight to Finn’s groin. He does it again, and the noise Poe makes causes his toes to curl in his boots.

“Does it feel good?” Finn demands, tightening his grip on the curls at the nape of Poe’s neck. His heart is beating fast, although he doesn’t quite know why.

On the opposite bunk, Jess has sat up straight. Snap has stopped fluttering his cards, and even Oro’s stern face looks more stoic than usual. “Poe, are you alright?” Jess asks, her voice high.

“He’s alright,” Finn reassures her.

Jess ignores him. “Poe?”

“Mmm, ‘mm good Jess,” Poe slurs, his voice sounding a lot heavier than it had moments ago. “S’alright.”

Finn drags his hand through Poe’s hair again, the edge of his hand brushing along the tip of Poe’s ear lightly. A hot, salty-sweet scent curls into the air, and Finn inhales deeply as Poe drops his head back against Finn’s knees. Poe looks up at him, his heavy-lidded eyes meet Finn’s curious brown ones.

“Does it feel good, Poe?” Finn asks again. “Do you feel good?” He needs Poe to feel good.

“Yes, Finn.” Poe closes his eyes as Finn’s hand combs through his curls. _Finn_. Finn still likes it when Poe says his name.

He drags his hands through Poe’s hair a few more times. “Say ‘Yes, Finn’ again”, he orders. He likes ordering Poe like this. He hopes Poe likes it too.

“Yes, Finn.” Poe’s voice is breathy. There’s another tightening at Finn’s groin.

“Poe-” Snap says.

Jess’s voice is even higher. “Finn, you shouldn’t-”

“’Nuff, Jess. ‘S fine. Finn’s fine.”

Jess’ eyes narrow as she stiffly refuses to lean back against Oro, watching Finn’s hands thread through Poe’s hair.

“It’s okay Jess,” Finn says happily, oblivious to her worry. Why would she be worried? They are all having a great time, and Poe is feeling really good. “Omegas like this sort of thing. I read up about it when I learnt what Poe was.” He tugs on Poe’s hair, hard this time. “I wanted to know how to make him feel good.”

“Mother!” Oro grunts. It sounds like a laugh.

Poe moans loudly at the same time as Snap suddenly stands up. “I think that’s enough, Finn. It’s time for us to go.” Snap says, and his face is carefully controlled. Oro and Jess stand up as well, and Finn can’t understand why their faces are frowning. “We’ll take Poe back with us too.”

“I…” He can’t think straight, the alcohol is messing with his head. Maybe he has drank too much. Why do they want to leave? Finn feels like he is missing some vital point. “Is everything okay..?”

“Guys – ngh! It’s just Finn. He does… doesn’t…” Poe slurs, struggling to sit upright, but Finn tugs him firmly back down against his legs, eliciting another groan from the pilot.

 _Just Finn_. Now Finn is frowning too.

“The party’s over,” Snap says. He strides forward as Jess takes a step toward them too, Oro at her shoulder. They move so fast that still confused, Finn lets Jess detangle his hands from Poe’s hair as Snap scoops a resisting Poe up into a bridal carry.

“Hey,” he says.

“Guys, guys,” Poe protests, already sounding more coherent now that Finn’s hands are out of his hair. His limbs look oddly floppy in Snap’s arms, like he’s too weak to have full control over them.

“Bloody alphas,” Snap says, ignoring them both, and Finn doesn’t understand. There aren’t any alphas here? Unless Oro species also has a secondary gender. He wouldn’t know; Finn’s sense of smell is even duller on alcohol than it usually is, but he can pick up on the scent Jess and Snap are angrily projecting into the room – protectiveness.

There is starting to be an unpleasant taste in Finn’s mouth. His head is spinning at all of the motion in the room. “I don’t feel too good,” he announces. His stomach is feeling queasy.

“Snap, put me down, man.”

“I’m not sure your feet can be trusted right now, pal. Or your head.” With those words, Snap swoops out of the door with Poe in his arms.

Finn feels oddly bereft. He hears the sound of Poe’s mumbled protests disappearing down the corridor.

Oro and Jess clear away the remnants of their card game and the bottles. She catches Finn’s eye, and her expression softens. “Alcohol hits us all differently. We all know a bit about your past. I can’t imagine you’ve drunk much before.”

“I don’t feel well,” Finn says. His queasy stomach has taken a turn for the worst.

“Don’t push it.” Jess jabs a finger at him. “You’re not about to get more sympathy than that from me after that stunt you just pulled.”

“No, really,” Finn hardly listens to her words. He _really_ doesn’t feel good.

“You better get to the bathroom. I’m sure your roommate will be back soon to take care of you. Don’t think we won’t talk about this again, by the way. When you’re sober.”

He doesn’t have time to explain about the poisonous pods and the tech in the medbay before, with Oro on her heels, she’s gone.

Finn has time to hope that Poe has had a good night before he stumbles over to the bathroom pod, pulls the door open and promptly throws up in the toilet basin.

…

There’s a pounding at the door in the morning. “Finn! Open up!”

It’s Poe’s voice. Finn would recognise it anywhere, even through the headache that is currently splitting his head open, a pain not too unlike the searing burn of Kylo Ren’s lightsaber slicing along his back.

“Hell,” Finn groans, rolling over on the floor. He opens his eyes, cursing at the bright noonday light that streams through the slit-like window stretching the width of the cell’s outer wall. One of his arms is still draped through the open door of the bathroom pod.

“Finn? Buddy?” More pounding.

Finn’s tongue is sour and heavy in his mouth; it feels like a rough barja stone. “Give me a second!” He croaks.

 _Poe_ … Last night. “Fuck! Fuck.” He’s scrambling up off the floor, memory rushing back to him in a mortifying, sickening mess. _His hands, in Poe’s hair. Poe’s_ moans. “Ow, ow, ow,” he says as the sudden movement makes his head ring like the inside of a bell tower.

“Finn! Are you okay in there?”

Fuck. How could he ever explain _that_ away? He feels even sicker when he remembers the accusatory way Jess had been glaring at him.

“Finn?” Poe’s still at the door.

“Uh…!” Finn looks down at his top and pats his body down, ignoring the slopping sickness in his stomach. Sometime in the night he’s lost his trousers, and his boots are halfway across the room. But his top is clean. No vomit. He’s still in boxers. He glances at the bathroom pod and is relieved to see that everything looks like it should. Clean. Nothing… messy out of place.

He must smell bad, he’s sure, but he can’t ignore Poe any longer. The man is owed an explanation after last night. _What_ explanation exactly he isn’t sure.

Finn’s hands twitch as remembers how Poe’s hair felt between his fingers.

 _I’m fucked_.

“Coming!” He lurches towards the door, his whole body aching. How do people get drunk like this _weekly_?!

Finn throws open the door. Poe is standing in the corridor, faint red creases from his bunk sheets lined across his cheek. His hair (his _hair_ , Finn swallows) is mussed on one side, flattened from sleep. He’s wearing the same clothes from last night. “Finn!” He exclaims when the door opens, stepping forward to grip Finn’s shoulder. When their eyes meet Poe’s are bright and full of nothing but relief. “Thank the stars, you’ve not choked on your own vomit in your sleep. I tried to tell Snap you hadn’t drunk like that before, but he wouldn’t listen! I would’ve come checked on you, but-”

“Poe.” Finn interrupts him, stepping back out of his grip. He swallows. “I am so, so sorry.” His hands raise to emphasize his point. “About last night. I-”

“Hey.” Poe holds his hands and pulls them down. Finn has never wished more that his sense of smell wasn’t stripped from him, so that he could pick up on what Poe is feeling right now. “Let’s talk about this inside, hmm? Come on. Come with me.” Finn lets Poe hustle him back until they are both inside his room, the door firmly shut behind them.

Is Poe scared of him? He wouldn’t have come to his room willingly if he was, right? Is he mad? Angry? Finn knows the ways alphas – and even betas - have historically treated their omegan counterparts, taking what they want, giving them no choice in the matter. Last night he took Poe’s choice away from him. He touched him without asking. That he was drunk was no excuse for his behaviour.

He needs to let Poe know that he’s sorry. That he knows he was wrong. He needs to check that Poe is okay.

Poe pushes him onto his bunk, and takes a seat on the tech’s bunk opposite, leaning with his elbows on his thighs. Finn sinks down to the mattress weakly. “Buddy, we need to talk about what you did last night.”

“Poe, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking-”

“I think I do. You’ve guessed what I am. You guessed on Kajimi.” Usually an open book, Finn can’t read Poe’s expression. “I get it. I’m an omega-” heat rushes through Finn to hear him say it, “and you’re a curious guy. You weren’t raised around omegas.” He squeezes his hands together in front of his knees. “I can only imagine the stories you’ve heard.”

 _That’s_ _not_ _it_ , Finn wants to say, listening to him, but his tongue won’t move in his mouth. _It’s more than that. My interest in you has been there from the start._

“Poe…”

“Just listen to me for one moment.” Finn’s mouth snaps shut and he nods. That is the least he can do for Poe now. “I don’t blame you for wondering about… that, that part of me… but you know you can’t touch me like that again.” Poe’s dark eyes flick up to meet his. “Not without my permission.”

Finn nods.

“We’re in a war. Omegas have always been at a certain disadvantage when it comes to war – both in their own ranks and against the enemy – and I really can’t let that part of me take any precedence now. There’s a time and a place, and, and-” Poe looks uncomfortable for the first time in the conversation, and Finn wishes he can take everything back so that the pilot doesn’t have to talk to him this way, “only certain people - people I trust - get to see me that way.”

Finn can’t disguise the breath he sucks in at that comment, and Poe’s eyes flick to his lips but he continues talking. “And whether or not that level of trust is something we’ve reached is a thing that’s decided by me,” he says with a finality.

He wants to lurch forward and wrap Poe up in his arms, shelter him from the insecurity in his voice. “Poe, I get that. I completely get that. I’m sorry.” Finn feels like the biggest asshole in the galaxy.

Poe bites his lip as he looks at him. “Finn, buddy, I’m not saying that at some level I don’t feel comfortable showing that side of me around you.”

“No, Poe, stop-”

“I care about you, I really do. And you’re a good guy, Finn! I know you aren’t some knotheaded alpha.” Poe leans forward insistently. “Stars, if there’s anyone I can trust, it’d be you.”

Finn flinches, but manages to hide it. Because he’s broken? Because he’s designation-stripped?

“I just can’t let that part of me come out whilst we’re at war. It makes me vulnerable, and chops up all my reaction times. Look at the stats, or let Leia monologue to you - a Resistance pilot doesn’t have that great a lifespan even when they’re clearheaded. Let alone when they’re-” Poe catches himself. Finn realises his cheeks have pinked. “When they’re… still floating from the effects of subspace.” His cheeks are red, but he resolutely holds his easy expression.

Finn’s eyes flick down to Poe’s foot, which is jiggling beneath his clasped hands. “Subspace?” He asks without thinking. He wonders if it’s a pilot term.

“Read another book.”

They sit in a strange silence for a moment, before Poe jerks to his feet. He isn’t a man used to sitting still. Finn mirrors him awkwardly. “Hey, come here,” Poe opens his arms wide, and pulls Finn into a hug, thumping him on the back. “I don’t want this to change things between us.”

 _But I do_ , Finn thinks, as Poe’s warm body presses against the length of his own, and the hair he had been stroking just last night brushes against his cheek.

…

Things with Poe go back to normal. Almost. The two of them act the same way around each other, the same mix of light-hearted comradery and brief, sincere moments of tenderness, but something has shifted. There’s a heightened awareness of one another, a tilt of each of their axis’s towards the other - at least on Finn’s part, and he is sure from Poe’s lingering touches and bitten lips and darkening eyes that he feels it too.

Poe is more than his secondary gender - he is the man who saved him, and one of the Resistance's best. He does not deserved to be fetishized for his designation. But Finn can’t stop hearing the pilots moans in his head whenever he looks at him, the memory of his hands in Poe’s hair screaming for his attention.

Maybe it's the image of the capable, headstrong pilot juxtaposed against the needy, wanton omegas in the dirty holovids his platoon had smuggled in and shared between the troopers that has got Finn wound up in such a knot of obsession. More than once, alone in his bunk at night he imagines Poe on his knees in front of a faceless stranger, mouth open and slick, eyes dark with desire, his muscles trembling.

Even as his hand slips down to his tug his cock free, Finn's face burns with shame. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking about his friend this way.

On Ajan Kloss, he decides to talk to a med-droid about it. The droid is not very helpful. “Sex is not shameful,” it tells him. “Attraction is not shameful. Preferences in type of mate is normal in the human species. This also is not shameful.”

“But Poe is… is more than his designation! Than how he acts in bed. I respect him.”

“We are in agreement. No human is the sum of their sexual activity.”

When Finn doesn’t know what else to say, the med-droid looks back at him with the blank stare of an electronic unit, undriven by sex, love or desire. “Do you think less of Poe Dameron for being driven by these particular urges?”

“Of course not!”

“Are his urges shameful?”

“No.”

“Then you should not be shamed by your attraction to them. It is illogical to consider respect and desire as mutually exclusive concepts. Sex is not shameful,” it tells him. It advances towards Finn insistently, as if this will convince him of the truth of it's words. “Attraction is not shameful. Preferences in type of mate is not shameful,” it repeats, adding for good measure, “masturbation is not shameful!”

Finn begins backing out of the room, sweating a little, arms outstretched. “Uh… thanks for your help.”

The med-droids recommend speaking to a counsellor if he has further questions, and shouts after him down the corridor, reminding him brightly to “always gain your partner’s verbal consent before engaging in sexual intercourse!”

…

Jess and Snap corner Finn shortly after that disastrous night of Halfmoon Click – as Jess had promised she would and Finn had been dreading. Her look is almost apologetic. “Poe’s told us that you’re designation-stripped. I’d never really thought about it before – we can’t smell your secondary gender, and the way you were touching Poe that night I assumed…”

“It’s only ever alphas who’ve acted like their entitled to Poe,” Snap says. The big man looks uncomfortable. “And I gotta tell you, that man’s not gone through life without his own fair handful of interested knotheaded assholes.”

“He’s told us you’ve got a free pass. We should’ve known something was up from the way he’s not stopped scent-marking you from the day you landed at D’Qar-”

“But you’ve got to see how it looked from our point of view,” Snap interrupts. “And he scent-marks everyone he feels close to, even me and Jess. It’s an omega thing.”

“And the jacket.”

“The jacket,” Snap nods wisely.

 _Scent-marking?_ _A free pass?_ That can’t be what it sounds like it is. “Uhh…”

“Next time, though, Finn?” Jess breaks into his whirling thoughts. “Keep that stuff private! I love Poe, but I never want to hear him make those noises again!”

“Yeah, we’re all up for giving the guy a few extra cuddles when he needs it, but that sort of thing lies outside of our territory.”

Snap and Jess look at him expectantly. “Right...” He offers weakly.

“And if you break his heart, or do anything – anything – to take advantage of his designation,” Jess steps forward threateningly, “I’ll get Oro to break every bone in your body, after I’ve used a med-droid to dial your nerve sensitivity up to twelve.”

Finn swallows.

“We’re trusting you with our best pilot, man. And trust me when I say you’ll have more members of the Resistance than just me and Jess if you break him.”

…

When Finn brings up his conversation with Snap and Jess, Poe breaks out into a big smile when Finn tells him that they’re back on good terms.

“Great!” Poe says. “I told them you’ve never drunk before.” He doesn’t mention anything about a ‘free pass’ and Finn’s too nervous to bring up the scent-marking. Poe drops his crate with a thump and claps him on his bicep, his hand sliding down to give Finn’s own hand a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re friends with my friends, man.”

Finn wonders if Poe’s aware of the fact that he’s just rubbed the scent glands in his wrist all the way down the length of his arm. He’s not going to point it out in case Poe stops.

…

Dark rumours begin rising, carried from the Outer Rim and further afield from those few beings who are still trickling in to join the Resistance from across the galaxy. Whispers of a new Sith Lord, an encroaching darkness, more powerful than they can imagine.

Finn trys to tell Rey about his attraction to Poe, the uncertainty that it’s brought with it, but she’s grown more distracted of late, running and rerunning Leia’s jedi training course, getting more frustrated as she’s unable to complete it to the best of her ability. At nights, sometimes she comes and sleeps in the empty bunk opposite Finn’s, confiding in him, “I’m just a beta. I’m a nobody. I don’t think I can do this.”

Finn knows how she feels. He’s more involved in the Resistance than ever, running missions with Poe, Chewie, Rose and interchangeable members of the crew across the galaxy, but always there’s that nagging feeling at the back of his head: he’s just a stormtrooper, a traitor, designation-stripped – not an ace-pilot or tech whizz or strategist like the rest of the Resistance on Ajan Kloss.

When he’s with Rey, another no-name dreg of the galaxy, he feels less alone.

The two become closer, even as Finn senses the conflict between Rey and Poe growing as the former refuses to join in their missions. It doesn’t help that Poe watches whenever Rey slips back to Finn’s room with dark, inscrutable eyes. Yet Finn can’t deny the connection between them, even as his attraction to Poe grows with every mission the two men run together, holed up - sometimes for weeks - on the Falcon, adrenaline pumping and sparks flying between them.

At some point when they’re set to fly another run, Poe wrinkles his nose as Finn steps on board the ship. “You smell like sad beta.”

“I’ll go grab another set of clothes,” Finn says, pulling at his shirt. Rey had cried on him earlier, for the Ben Solo she had lost. She had been struggling to come out of a depressive state and had stayed in his room for a few days.

“Nah, just change into a set of mine. I’ve got some stashed here after that Gryloo-pollen incident on Tatooine.” He says it casually, but Finn’s heart jumps. “We’re around the same size.”

“Nice clothes,” Rose comments when he steps out of the sleeping compartment ten minutes later. Finn looks to Poe, who grins smugly. He can practically smell the satisfaction rolling off him.

 _Huh. Omegas can get possessive too_ , Finn thinks.

After that, whenever they’re on the Falcon they share most of their clothes. _It’s just practical_ , Finn thinks. _Besides, I already wear his jacket_.

…

They’re on the Falcon, packing last minute supplies into the hold when Rose wanders into the compartment. “You guys need to get some sleep if you’re going to be fresh for Basmoth. I’ll take first shift with Arvis; he’s happy sat at the controls.”

“Arvis,” Poe mutters, securing the crate he’d dropped to the deck. “Jackass boyracer.”

“Hey, hey.” Finn pats his arm. “We can’t all be star pilots.” Rose wanders back out, and daringly, Finn gently touches the small of Poe’s back, nudging him to the door. “Come on, let’s crash.” He’s taken to slipping these small directives – orders, really – into his speech when he’s around Poe. Nothing too obvious, or that anyone could really call out, but enough that Poe’s cheeks occasionally darken, and he obligingly follows Finn’s requests.

It’s only when he’s alone that Finn fantasizes about other orders Poe’s biology might compel him to follow. If only Finn was an alpha, and they were paired.

The sleeping compartment has three bunks, but its not until Finn and Poe enter that they both remember that the two of the three pods are still covered in encrusted body fluids from the ambassadors they’d transported in the disastrous Kraylar II mission.

Finn and Poe look at one another. “Uh…” Finn clears his throat, nodding at the one clean pod. “You go for it. I can grab towels or something to put down over the… goo.” Both of their noses wrinkle in sync as they look to the slimey bunks; even with a towel covering the fluid, Finn doubts he’d be able to fall asleep with his nose inches from that stench.

“If you don’t mind pressing close, we can both fit in there,” Poe points out. Nothing in his manner implies that what he’s suggesting is anything out of the ordinary. Just two friends, sharing a bunk.

 _Pressing close_. _Does Poe even realise what he’s saying?_ Finn’s dick twitches in his pants and he urges himself to act normally. _Hell, I hope he can’t smell me._ “If you’re sure… I don’t want to, ah… make you uncomfortable.”

“You could never, buddy!”

_How is Poe always so nonchalant about these sorts of things?!_

Five minutes later and they’re both crammed shoulder-to-shoulder into the sleeping nook, Poe tucked in closest to the wall - which satisfies some deep part of Finn. They’re both fully clothed, with their boots kicked off onto the floor, and Finn has found a thin blanket to throw over them both. It only serves to make their position seem even more intimate.

“You okay?” Finn’s heart is thumping so fast in his chest that he has no idea how he manages to startle at Poe’s breathy question near his ear.

“Yeah I’m good, I’m good. It’s just cosy.” Finn tilts his head sideways to meet Poe’s eyes, and he’s so kriffing _close_. Their faces must be only a handspan or too apart. This close, Poe’s brown eyes are real big, and his smile is wide.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Poe huffs a laugh, and looks up at the roof of their sleeping pod, his hands clasped on his chest. “I wonder if Leia and Han ever cosied up like this when they flew on this ship.”

Finn is sure that Leia and Han got up to much more than that, but he refrains from pointing this out. He’s already freaking out enough, being this close – this _horizontal_ – to the object of his fantasies, the man he’s slowly fallen for. “I like lying next to you,” is what blurts out of his mouth before he can stop the words. _Stars, Finn, why are you like this?_

Does something in Poe’s scent shift at his words? Finn wishes his sense of smell is keener. “I could get used to lazing around,” Poe agrees, a shade evasively. “Goodnight, Finn.” His voice brightens. “See you in four hours.” He shifts to his side, facing away from Finn, presenting him with the nape of his neck and those soft, inky curls Finn’s fingers itch to touch again.

“Goodnight Poe.” Finn shifts to mirror Poe’s position, resting his head on one arm, painfully aware of the foot of distance between their bodies.

Finn is not sure whether minutes or hours have passed when Poe's voice breaks the silence of the darkened room. 

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“I trust you. Like, completely.” Poe’s voice is quiet, but Finn can’t see his face or the expression he makes as he says it. “I need you to know that.”

Finn absorbs this, his heart fluttering at the sudden, inexplicable happiness that has flooded it.

“Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come a bit closer? Maybe… hug you? Or not!” Finn mumbles as Poe’s shoulders visibly tense. “Jess and Snap said you that you like hugging. And I think… I want to hug you. Just hug! Whilst we sleep.” Finn’s face is burning. “I just think it’d be cosy whilst we sleep. And I know some omegas like that stuff.” His words rush out and he curses himself for saying anything as Poe’s back remains a solid wall to his face.

There’s a strange huffing sound and Finn realises that Poe is laughing. “You can cuddle me if you want, buddy.” Relief floods him. Poe half rolls over, looking back at him and laughing more at his worried expression. “You stormtroopers are a repressed bunch, aren’t you?”

“Well, I hug Rey a lot, when she’s sad.”

A frown etches itself onto Poe’s forehead. He reaches over and links his fingers with Finn’s, setting his nerve endings on fire as they brush and interlink, and pulls Finn’s arm over him so that they’re sandwiched together, Finn’s chest to his back. “Do you hug like this?” Poe asks.

“Not quite,” Finn admits against Poe’s neck, his nose buried in his glorious, omega-smelling curls. He feels more aware of the points where their bodies are pressed together than he’s ever been aware of anything in his life. His arm, cradling Poe. His _dick_ , pressed against the curve of Poe’s ass.

He stifles a groan. _Don’t get hard, don’t get hard_ , he begs whatever god might be listening.

“Hmm.” Does Poe sound satisfied? Finn can imagine that he’s smiling against the ribbed surface of the pod. “Was this what you wanted?”

“Yeah. This is nice,” Finn gives in to the tug in his chest and pulls in Poe closer, snuggling deeper into his body. “You’re like a teddy bear. A little one.”

“Hey!” Poe says in mock outrage, “we’re pretty much the same height! And don’t get too used to this,” Poe says. His voice already sounds drowsy, as if he’s being lulled to sleep by the warmth and their contact. “I cuddle with Jess and Snap, but spooning isn’t exactly a normal item on that menu.”

Holding his breath as if breathing will make Poe startle, Finn, daringly, noses into his neck, pushing his face against one of his scent glands. Skin to skin, even Finn can smell him. Poe is intoxicating this close.

Poe tenses slightly in his arms.

“Ssh,” Finn calms him, holding him still. “Ssh.” His lips flutter against Poe’s neck and he wonders if he’s gone too far, but Poe doesn’t push him away.

In this moment, Finn’s life is almost perfect.

…

The tension between Poe and Rey only grows, and Finn finds himself increasingly stuck in the middle of the two. Both of his friends are growing ever more strained under the pressure to be the best, perform their best, to do everything in their own power to ensure that those they love will see the end of the conflict with the First Order.

Finn wishes he could take their burdens from them: from Rey, as a Jedi in training; from Poe, as Leia’s trusted right-hand man and squadron leader. He wants to ease the new weight Poe carries in his shoulders, even as he imagines doing other things to him.

It doesn’t help that they’ve both taken to sharing a bed whenever they work the same missions. Poe pulls him to the Falcon’s sleeping booths whenever it’s their turn to crash on long hauls with an indifference to the connotations of the act that Finn tries not to dwell on. “It feels good,” he shrugs when Finn asks. “Blame my kriffing biology.”

…

Palpatine has returned. The news ricochets through the Resistance like a bullet against steel, hitting them all with same cold shock of news of some unexpected, sudden disaster.

Their death sentence is broadcasted on all frequencies in the galaxy, attributed to Palpatine’s ‘Final Order’: “in sixteen hours, attacks on all worlds begins…”

For the first time outside of the Millenium Falcon, Poe seeks him out to sleep with that night. “Can I come in?” He says, standing in the door. He looks rumpled and tired, like the stress of the news has aged him five years. “I need to be somewhere I feel safe.” His voice breaks, and Finn grabs him by the arm and pulls him in.

He strips him of his jacket and boots, and bundles him onto his cot, pressing him into the wall where Poe feels sheltered. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, feeling the pilot sag back into his chest.

“Could you... hold me, Finn?" Poe asks, and from the hesitancy in his voice Finn understands what he wants. With a completely subconscious small growl, his hand slips up to wrap around Poe’s neck, cupping him in a gentle hold that Poe would be hard pressed to break, even if he tries. Poe shudders under his touch, even as Finn’s other hand slips up tightly around his arms, encircling one of Poe's wrists in a grasp that is really more possessive than Finn has the right to demonstrate.

“You’re safe, Poe,” Finn whispers against his ear. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Poe settles back into Finn, his body finally relaxing. “Thanks.” He swallows beneath Finn’s palm, and Finn wonders what it must be costing him, to be vulnerable like this, and how anxious he must be to give into his designation urges. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

…

Finn wakes knowing that something is not right. He’s hot, too hot, and there’s a fire burning in his veins. He knows this fire, he’s played with it before, guiltily, stripping his cock to images of Poe on his hands and knees before him… but now this is different.

Poe is still in his arms, pressed into the wall by his bunk. But Finn is squeezing his hip in one hand tightly, the other gripping Poe by the neck. His nose is buried in Poe’s hair as he ruts against his clothed ass, desperately trying to get friction on his hard dick.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck, fuck!” Finn gasps, releasing Poe’s hip like a hot circuit board as awareness of what’s happening hits him. His other hand is less willing to let go of Poe’s neck. What is he doing! “I’m sorry!”

_Why do I always fuck things up?!_

He tries to scramble backwards, but Poe’s hand shoots around to grab his and place it back on his hip. “Don’t stop on my account,” Poe pants, his voice muffled against the wall.

“Poe?”

“Please!” Poe’s gasping, and it’s one of the hottest things Finn’s heard in his life. His hand instinctively tightens around Poe’s neck, earning him another throaty gasp. His face is pinked and shiny with sweat, damp, dark curls sticking to his face, and – Yes. Finn’s just died. This is too much.

“Poe…”

“Please,” Poe begs. “Come on, Finn. Don’t leave me hanging here.”

“Are you sure?” What’s the right thing to do here? His aching dick is begging him to continue, and Poe smells so salty-sweet, his hair and clothes drenched in the scent. This can’t be Poe’s heat. He’s enough in his right mind. His own mind is screaming at him for stopping.

“Finn…” Poe’s voice isn’t high-pitched and false like the omegas Finn’s seen in those adult holovids. It’s Poe’s voice, throaty and deep, and _begging him._

If he doesn’t do something soon, Poe’ll cool off, and then maybe they’ll both be too awkward to come close to something like this ever again. And Finn feels good; he feels desperate right now. He wants to feel better.

Finn squeezes Poe’s hip. There’ll be a bruise there when he changes out of those trousers. He leans forward and bites Poe’s ear, causing the other man to yelp. He’s decided, although it isn’t much of a decision. “Beg me again,” he asks, his voice deepening.

“Please, Finn!”

Fuck. That shoots straight to his groin. “Again.”

“Dammit! Please Finn!”

“Fuck. Poe.” With a growl, Finn’s hand slides up Poe’s neck and grabs his jaw, twisting the other man’s head around to meet his. “Open up for me,” he says against Poe’s mouth, biting his way through his lips to a give him a bruising kiss. He doesn’t stop to wonder if kissing is a no go; from the way Poe moans under his lips, he has no objections.

Finn’s hand scrambles to undo the buckle on Poe’s trousers, unzipping his fly and pushing the leather away so that he can cup Poe through the soft material of his boxers. “Do you want me to touch this?” He asks.

Poe practically whines.

“Say it,” his hand brushes along Poe’s hard length through the cloth teasingly.

“Yes, Finn. You bastard.”

“Hey.” Finn warns him. Maybe if this was something they’d talked about before, Finn would slap him. Gently. Just enough to make him gasp some more. But he doesn’t; that isn’t something they’ve ever discussed.

Finn’s hand slides from Poe’s neck and drops down to unbuckle his own trousers, spitting on one palm even as he slips Poe’s darkened cock from his boxers, thumbing the leaking tip. He rolls their hips together as he noses up the length of Poe’s neck, pressing kisses to the lean throat he’d admired for so long, nipping at the soft underside of Poe’s chin as he groans.

“Finn, buddy,” Poe pants as Finn slips their cocks together in his hand, hot, hard flesh pressing against hot, hard flesh. Ache against ache, want against want. Poe’s back arches as Finn starts to jerk them off.

“Does it feel good?” Finn murmurs against Poe’s neck, looking up at him. Poe’s eyes are closed in small ecstasy, head tilted back, cheeks that delicious pink.

“Yes,” Poe gasps.

Finn reaches with his free hand and pushes up Poe’s shirt, exposing his chest and nipples. He bites his way to their rosy peaks, sucking one and then the other into his mouth as his other hand moves faster between them.

“Finn!” Poe cries as he pulls off his nipple and reaches up, threading his hand through Poe’s thick hair and tugging the roots.

“Poe,” Finn breathes as he bites down on Poe’s neck.

_Poe, Poe, Poe, Poe…_

…

That morning, Poe is silent when he dresses. He wears a high collared shirt and winds a scarf around his neck to hide the bruises left by Finn’s hands and lips, Poe’s fingers brushing over the marks and his swollen scent glands with a lingering significance Finn can’t interpret.

 _Did I do something wrong?_ Finn can only guess. He doesn’t regret those marks on his neck, the marks he’s left all over his body – but he fiercely hopes Poe doesn’t regret them either.

With his boots on, Poe turns to the door, but Finn catches his wrist in his hand before he can open it. “Poe.”

“Finn. I- I can’t do this right now, man.” He doesn’t look at him, but bites his lip, dark lashes angled down.

“Hey,” Finn releases his wrist to catch Poe’s jaw and tilt his face toward him. “Are we good?” And, softer: “are you okay?” He drops his hand, brushing it along Poe’s arm before releasing him.

Poe shifts and Finn sees his jaw harden as those dark eyes meet his own. He can spot the moment in Poe’s eyes that he decides to be honest with him. “You’re really testing me, Finn.” He gently claps Finn’s shoulder, and Finn wishes he’d have touched him for longer. “I can’t be this version of me right now,” he gestures expansively to the bed. “I can’t do it. We have, what, twelve, eleven hours to save the entire galaxy? And I can’t be feeling like this. We all need to be in our best shape.”

Finn watches a bead of sweat trail down Poe’s neck, under the scarf. He leans forward, breathing deeply. “Are you-?” No. Poe can’t be smelling the way Finn suspects he might be.

“Come on,” Poe draws away. “We can’t miss Rey before she leaves.”

“Hey, are you sure you’re alright? You smell as if-”

“I’m fine, Finn! Let’s get on with saving the galaxy.” Before Finn can grab him aside again Poe has ducked under his searching hand and smoothly spun through the door behind him, Finn scrambling to keep up in his wake.

“Poe!”

…

They grab Chewie and C3PO on the way to the Millenium Falcon, and catch up with Rey just as she reaches the ship. Finn is still trailing in Poe’s stubbornly unheeding wake.

“I need to find Exegol,” Rey says, “I’m going to start where Luke’s trail went cold. The forbidden desert of Pasana.”

BB-8 rolls at her feet, chirping in alarm.

“Yeah, I know.” Poe says. “We’re going with you. Chewie, you got that compressor fixed?”

Chewie lets out a guttural sound. Finn has no idea if it’s an affirmative or not. He draws level with Rey, who glances to Poe and Chewie and then back to him. “I need to go alone,” she stresses.

“Yeah, alone and with friends,” Finn says.

“It’s too dangerous Finn.”

Poe, Chewie, BB-8 and Threepio are at his back, and Finn’s heart swells as Chewie growls, BB-8 beeps and Threepio exclaims, “I wholeheartedly agree!”

…

Minutes later, they are onboard the Falcon, blasting their way through to lightspeed and the Midian system, where Pasana and the clue to the wayfinder awaits.

Rey seems unable to smell it, but by this point Finn is almost one hundred percent certain: their ragtag party of would-be saviours consists of two droids, a wookie, a beta and designation-stripped human – and an omega on the brink of heat.

Here’s to the next eleven hours saving the galaxy.


End file.
